On the surface, this new life is wonderful and it suits you so well; you feel like you are meant to be here.
I would like a conversation, where we talk about life and living and what it all means. Maybe after, my brain will turn into liquid and drip into dreams.
Mommy loves to tell the story of the day I was born. As soon as I was all cleaned up and looking beautiful, they handed me to my Daddy. Of course, I was yelling my fool head off as babies tend to do. He smiled, patted my rear, and snuggled me close.
Writing on the blog is deeply personal. I imagine I sit you down, offer you tea, hold your hand and look you in the eyes. Whilst you may read this and throw it away, or never think of it again, I think of it every day. The power of you sitting with me, and giving me space to share my thoughts.
I lay in the sun, and saw a spider. It was a tiny smudge against the blue. Long, desperate webs trailed from its body like a single stitch that bore witness to the little life hurtling through the sky. Rather than fix him in a physical place, this web stitched the spider into my mind. I often come back to him.